Chapter 688:

🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙

By the time Sloane was back in her office, an email was waiting. The Ascent had been restored to its Thursday night prime-time slot. Her team was ecstatic, staring at her with a new level of awe.

That evening, she was on the phone with her cousin, who owned a small, high-end coffee roasting company in Brooklyn.

“I heard what you did,” her cousin said, laughing. “You finally learned to play the game, Sloane.”

A small, private smile touched Sloane’s lips. “I had a good teacher,” she admitted.

𝖣𝘪sc𝗼𝗏е𝗿 𝗁𝘪𝘥𝘥𝖾𝗇 𝘨𝗲𝗆ѕ 𝗼𝗇 g𝖺𝘭ոo𝘷е𝘭s.c𝘰𝗆

She ended the call by placing a large order for her cousin’s best single-origin Ethiopian brew and a half-dozen expensive, insulated thermoses.

That weekend, they drove up to Alistair’s sprawling country estate north of the city. An early season snowstorm had blanketed the landscape in a thick layer of pristine white.

On Saturday morning, Sloane looked out the bedroom window. Alistair was outside, dressed in rugged winter gear, a dark Barbour jacket and worn leather boots. He wasn’t relaxing by a fire. He was personally overseeing a crew of groundskeepers as they cleared the long, winding driveway with a snowplow, ensuring his staff could get in and out of the property safely.

She saw a different side of him then. Not the ruthless CEO in a boardroom, but a landowner, a patriarch, taking direct, hands-on responsibility for his domain and his people.

An idea sparked. An impulse.

She went down to the kitchen, brewed a large thermos of the fragrant coffee she had ordered, and gathered a stack of insulated paper cups. She bundled up in a stylish but warm shearling coat, pulled on a pair of Sorel snow boots, and walked out into the crisp, cold air.

The low rumble of the snowplow stopped as the groundskeepers saw her approaching. They leaned on their shovels, surprised to see the new lady of the house trudging through the snow.

Alistair turned at the sudden silence. His eyebrows rose when he saw her.

Sloane walked right up to him, a genuine, unforced smile on her face. The cold air turned her breath into a white plume.

“I thought you and your team might need this,” she said, holding out the steaming thermos.

It was a simple gesture. A wifely gesture. But here, in public, in front of his men, it was a powerful statement of unity.

Alistair’s cool blue eyes softened. He took the thermos, his cold, gloved fingers brushing against hers. “Thank you, Sloane,” he said, and the words seemed to hold a much deeper meaning.

He poured a cup for himself, then made sure every one of his workers got one, introducing Sloane to the foreman simply and clearly. “This is my wife, Sloane.”

The men nodded respectfully, their gazes shifting between the two of them, seeing them not as a boss and his new acquisition, but as a team. A united front.

Sloane felt a warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with the coffee. She wasn’t just leveraging his name in an office tower; she was participating in their shared life.

.

.

.